Home for Good. Jessica Keller

running. Ali’s heart squeezed. He might mirror her brown-sugar-like freckles, but the thick maple-colored hair that stuck up on the side when he woke in the morning, his square jaw, the angular nose and intense pale blue eyes—all of that belonged to his father. Chance looked just like...

      Ali shook her head. She did not want to think about him. Not today. Not ever.

      Instead she chose to weave through groups of mingling neighbors, greeting them with a nod since her hands were full. She located an empty place for the potato salad on a table already loaded with deviled eggs, baked beans and desserts. Satisfied that the food situation was under control, Ali snatched a gooey-looking brownie and raised it to her lips.

      “Hiya, Ali.”

      The voice from her past rocketed through her with the force of a kick drum. The brownie flew out of her hand, leaving a powdered-sugar trail down her shirt on its way to the hard dirt. She spun around.

      Jericho Freed.

      All six feet of him, clad in jeans and a fitted gray-striped button-down. His bold, masculine eyebrows rose as he surveyed her with look-me-in-the-eyes-if-you-dare blues. He wore a straw cowboy hat with unruly hair poking out, and a five o’clock shadow outlined his firm jaw. More than eight years later, and the man still made her mouth go dry.

      It frustrated her that after everything, he still had that power.

      So she did the only rational thing she could think to do. Flee.

      In a fluid movement, Ali sidestepped him and took off sprinting at a breakneck clip. Her hat flew off.

      He yelled out her name.

      And just like in the past, his voice poured sweet and velvety, like chocolate over each syllable. Ali’s nails dug into her palms. She didn’t want to hear him. She never wanted to fall under his spell again. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she ran.

      Why was he here? Oh, why hadn’t she moved away when she had the...chance? Chance! Suddenly she pounded faster, the narrow toe of her boots chafing against her feet.

      Jericho couldn’t see Chance. She wouldn’t let that happen. God, please!

      Ali zeroed in on her sister Kate milling next to the volleyball court.

      She waved her arms. “Quick! We have to find Chance! Now!” Ali pressed a hand to the stitch in her side as she looked over her shoulder, scanning the crowd for the cowboy with impossibly blue eyes. He hadn’t followed her.

      Kate jogged toward Ali, her eyes wide. “Sis? I don’t see smoke coming from your hair, so if it’s not on fire—what is?”

      She seized Kate’s arms, clamping down on reality. “He’s here. He’s back. What am I supposed to... What if he... What about Chance?” Her voice rose in a frenzy.

      Kate shook her gently. “Who’s here?”

      “My husband.”

      * * *

      “Ali! Alison!” With his hands looped onto his belt buckle, Jericho kicked, sending a cloud of Montana dust into the air. Maybe he should chase after her, but his knees probably couldn’t handle running at that clip.

      Great. Just great.

      He rubbed the back of his neck as Ali hightailed it like a spooked filly. At that speed, she might make the Canadian border by nightfall. It sure wasn’t funny, though. A man couldn’t laugh, not when the rejection felt like a sledgehammer hitting him square in the chest. The cold look in her hazel eyes told him where he stood. Unwelcome. Unforgiven. How could he have expected anything else? But her reaction rankled him all the same.

      He rubbed his jaw and growled. Could he blame her? No. What kind of man envisions a warm welcome after eight years of silence? Jericho Eli Freed. Stupid man.

      A young boy with floppy hair ambled toward him. “Are you really a soldier?”

      Jericho cleared his throat, pulled at the fabric of his army pants and dropped to one knee. “I sure am.” Or was.

      “That’s cool. I want to be a soldier someday.” At this confession, the child looked down and dug his toe into the ground.

      Keeping his voice low to draw the kid out of his shell, Jericho asked, “Do you feel funny around new people? ’Cause I sure do. When I was your age, I just had one friend in the world and she was the only person I’d talk to.” Jericho laid a hand on the boy’s scrawny shoulder.

      Suddenly a shadow loomed over them. “Get your hands off of him.”

      Jericho jerked back and looked up—and his mouth fell open. Fire in her eyes, Ali Silver stood there, an arm wrapped around the boy as she pulled him close.

      Jericho jumped to his feet, putting his hands palm up in surrender.

      Even seething mad, beauty radiated from her. Sure, she had changed in the last eight years, but in a good way. Auburn mellowed her once fire-truck-red hair. The long tresses he remembered were now cut so they skimmed her ears. Cute.

      Ali. His Ali. She’d been a slim thing, barely entering womanhood when he left. Now she had gentle curves that he had to school his eyes not to explore. Her hazel eyes held a soft sincerity that drew him in. A familiar tightening gripped his stomach as his pulse started to go berserk.

      The kid pushed against her. “No, Mom, he’s not a stranger. This is a soldier. We were becoming friends.”

      Jericho’s mind raced like a mouse caught in a maze. Mom? The single word sent a zap through his body, like someone had dumped a vat of ice over his head. Ali was a mother? Had she remarried? Impossible. The kid was what? Six? Seven—?

      “Ali?” He tried to meet her gaze, but she looked away.

      “Hey, Chance.” Ali leaned over to speak close to the child’s ear. “I think I see your teacher, Mrs. McBride, over there. Can you do me a favor and find out how she liked those pies we made her?”

      “Ali?” Jericho repeated. His mind latched onto the name Chance and filed it away for later.

      Chance’s brow creased. He looked at Jericho, then back at his mother. “How come he knows your name, Mom?”

      Despite the sweltering day, a cold sweat pricked the back of Jericho’s neck.

      * * *

      Her mouth went dry. No matter what, Ali had to get Chance away from Jericho. She placed her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t matter, Chance. Now go visit with Mrs. McBride for a minute.” After sending Chance away, she took a deep breath and turned to address Jericho, but couldn’t make herself completely meet his gaze. “I don’t know why you’re here—”

      “We need to talk.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

      “There is no ‘we.’”

      He quirked an eyebrow. “I disagree. Unless I slept through signing some sort of papers, you and I, well, we’re still married.”

      Her tongue suddenly felt like a dried-up riverbed. We’re still married. Fear skittered down her spine like racing spiders. Of course. As a teen mom on her own, she didn’t have spare money to toss around on lawyer fees.

      She balled up her fists. “I want you to leave.”

      He shook his head, reached a hand out toward her, then dropped it to his side. “I’m back, Ali—back for good.”

      “Why?” The word came out more whisper than force.

      She stared into his intense blue eyes, her gaze dipping to the single freckle above his lip. Same dime-sized scar near his eye, the slight tug of his lips—always ready to joke.

      He stepped closer. “I need to talk to you. Explain about being away.”

      “Just being away? How nice. Sounds warm and fuzzy, like you took a vacation.”

      He ran a hand over his hair,